


Seamless

by Venison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), PWP, Regret, Smut, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venison/pseuds/Venison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the Inquisitor is hard. There are nobles who require Lavellan's audience, and soldiers who need help knowing which side of the sword to hold. Then there are alliances he needs to create and requisitions he needs to complete for the betterment of the Inquisition. With all these things stacked on him at one time, his coin purse becomes lighter. Despite the valuables he discovers in his expeditions, he can't quite manage to have enough to provide for his companions. Lavellan is offered a simple solution to solve his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seamless

The Inquisitor returns on his hart. He trots through Skyhold's gates and the crowd that gathers welcomes him on his eagerly awaited return. There are cheers of the success on whatever troubles he has taken upon himself to remedy, and low breaths of relief to see the elvhen mage in one piece.

Lavellan has only just returned from his last expedition. He has been on expeditions privately these days. Although no one dares to question the Herald's actions. Whatever he's doing, it brings wealth and prosperity to the Inquisition.

Lavellan greets his Inquisition with his usual grace, with his hip-length alabaster mane flowing behind him. His freckled skin is tanned due to his exploits in the Exalted Plains and he appears much more alive than when he joined the Inquisition. It's not news that the Inquisitor is attractive. Now with developed lean muscles and nimble hands due to his speclisiation as a knight enchanter, he's a fearsome warrior on the battlefield. He's youthful, just barely in adulthood, with his long lashes and plump lips he can charm nobles to his feet in court.

Inquisitor Lavellan is a painted picture of unconventional attractiveness with deadly magic at his fingertips, and a talented tongue that's just as dangerous. He rides in on his hart through the snow and gathers the crowd around him.

He receives an embrium from one of his admirers and accepts it. It's a sweet gesture and he shows his appreciation. It is short lived but he's made one of his followers splendidly ecstatic. It's sure to be a boost for morale.

Once he reaches the stables, he dismounts. Lavellan lovingly strokes the hart's head and allows the stable hands to take her into retirement. He, on the other hand, has other duties that must be attended.

                "Inquisitor!"

The Inquisitor glances over his shoulder while he removes his riding gear. It's Dorian, and although Lavellan greets him with his trademark friendly smile, he appears frazzled and distraught. This causes him to frown in response.

                "What's wrong?" He asks as he removes the last of his gear. Dorian approaches his friend and leads him from the stables.

                "That... That charlatan, Sera, has vandalized my robes!" The mage wrings his hands in frustration. On closer inspection, Lavellan realizes Dorian isn't wearing his usual, flashy Tevinter robes. Instead it's what the conscripted mages don. And he can tell from the man's body language that this the cheap material is not agreeing with him.

                The Inquisitor sighs at this and shakes his head, it's another problem he must solve, "I see. I'll have a chat with her then." He reaches into his coin purse and retrieves some sovereigns, "In the meantime, purchase some new robes from Bonnie. Her new shipment seems promising." 

Dorian arches a curious brow at the Inquisitor's generous contribution to his wardrobe malfunction.

                "Mahanon, are you sure?" He asks, losing his usual confident demeanor, "Where did you get those sovereigns? The Inquisition could not be this well heeled!"

                Lavellan waves a hand at the accusation, "These private expeditions have been rewarding. I can afford it, don't mind me." He smiles up at his friend, who returns it with an uncertain stare.

                Eventually, Dorian gives in and takes the sovereigns, "I'm in your debt, Inquisitor. Don't hesitate to borrow my abilities in the next expedition." He grins at the elvhen mage and leaves the man to his own devices. The sovereigns would be helpful towards newer, and better robes.

Lavellan shakes his head at the mage and decides to leave. There is a meeting in the war room he must attend, and then some treaties Josephine wishes for him to sign, and then the Iron Bull who has some information that he wishes to share.

He's spent the past two days in Val Royeaux, and although the environment is much preferred over the Exalted Plains and god forbid, the Fallow Mire, he's utterly exhausted. But, as the Inquisitor's work is never quite done he starts to make his way towards the war room.

Leliana is there to greet him as he leaves Josephine's office. She stands there with her arms crossed and expression furrowed with concern, and he can't help but assume something is wrong. The spymaster doesn't approach him often as she prefers to leave things in the war room to discussion, or communicate with cleverly placed notes.

                Despite this, the Inquisitor greets his advisor with a smile, "Hello Leliana. Is there something I can do for you?" She doesn't ask much from him, along with the other advisors, but there are favors he must do for her every now and then.

                "Inquisitor," She begins, and her expression continues to crease, "There's something I must discuss with you."

Lavellan swallows and he's unsure what the woman could possibly want. He's long past his initial suspicions but even so he's curious. But he decides that if Leliana requires a word it must be important.

                "Of course." He waves her over, "Let's speak somewhere with more seclusion. I suspect this is a word of private matters?"

Leliana nods and they soon find themselves in the gardens. It's late in the evening so there is no one but the gardeners present to tend to the herbs. Everyone else must be celebrating the Inquisition’s recent prospects in the tavern. They have been doing very well as of late and a lot of their affluence does come from the Inquisitor's recent endeavors.

There is a pregnant silence between the two. It isn't often that Lavellan feels awkward around his advisors, and he wonders what has brought this on.

                "Leliana. There was something you wanted to discuss?" He reminds her, and this seems to snap her out of her thoughts.

The spymaster sighs and rests her hands on her elbows. She's nervous. She has to wait a moment before she can meet the man's stare. Her own eyes are sharp and curious and they're starved for answers.

                "The Inquisition has the need to spend much more in recent times, and with your visits to Val Royeuax bearing so much success with affluence I couldn't help but be curious."

                Lavellan scrunches his nose, "What did you do?" He demands. His fists clench and he's defensive at the mention of it. He's made it clear how much he values his private visits. Even Josephine gave in and stopped asking for written reports.

                "I had some spies do some investigating for me," She explains, "on you, and what you were doing there." Her voice claims innocence, but the Inquisitor is angered. His lips curl into a scowl and he bites his tongue.

                Lavellan shakes his head and begins to stare holes into the ground, "So, then what? Tell me what you found out about me."

He's realized she knows. But he doesn't want to acknowledge the truth. There are things he's so intent to keep to his own conscious but he must have known, somewhere down the road, that someone would find out. It might as well have been her. Leliana would be the one who would consider keeping his escapades a secret.

Leliana swallows and Lavellan tears his gaze from the grass, it's physically painful to meet her eyes with his. He can see the judgement in them, and the pain that she feels on her unsavory discovery.

                "You're selling your body, aren't you?"

The words hit him much harder than he thought they would. He's been avoiding the truth for as much as he could but with her confirmation, it finally settles in his mind. It's the barren truth and his throat tightens up.

                "Inquisitor," She bites her lower lip and she opens his mouth to cast the words to him but he interrupts.

                "No, Leliana, please stop." Lavellan raises his hand and it silences her without a word of objection, "You know where the Inquisition is. Even with our supporters how can I maintain the requisitions, the armor and weapons for my companions and the recruits?" He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. 

                "I won't have the Inquisition do more than they need to do. This is a place where people can feel like they're fighting towards a good cause. They need a leader who can provide for them but they don't need to know  _how_ he's providing." He rubs his nape self-consciously, "If they found out their Herald did such... abhorrent things. I don't know what would happen."

                Leliana hesitates and then nods in recognition, "I understand, Inquisitor." She reaches out and touches his shoulder, her fingers are delicate and they're trusting, "Just tell me," Her fingertips find their way onto his collar and they drag the thin material down to reveal what is hiding underneath, "when did this start?"

There are bruises and bites along the man's throat. They're deep and they're red and they've marred his otherwise perfect complexion. Lavellan makes no conscious move to refuse her inspection and instead, he sighs.

                "It started not too long ago..."

* * *

 

The expedition to the Hissing Wastes had found Lavellan and his companions in Val Royeuax. It isn't much out of the way to Skyhold and he has been informed of the new suppliers wishing to aid the Inquisition with their wares. Their armor and weapons are somewhat out of date, he admits, and he has been using battle worn staves and robes to pass on better things to Vivienne, Solas and Dorian.

Nonetheless, those things he keeps to himself and only himself. With Cullen overlooking the budgets on the Inquisition's recruits, that leaves Lavellan to mind the funds for his own party. It isn't as expensive as to pay for a whole battalion but his friends did have expensive taste.

                "Look at this one!" Sera cries as he brings up a bow to her gaze, "It's so wide and the string..." Her eyes are glittering in excitement at the weapon in her hands. It's much better than her current bow but Lavellan suspects it must be cost much more as well.

                Varric wanders over towards her and inspects the price tag with a critical glare, "Sure, but costs a bit more than we'd normally spend." He sighs in silent judgement. Varric has become one of Lavellan's favored members, simply because Bianca costs nothing to maintain.

                "Inquisitor!" Sera calls as she approaches the man, he's standing at the entrance of the store with Iron Bull, "We can afford this right? With all the shiny crap we found in those wastes it's no big deal."

                Lavellan forces a smile and he nods, "Of course."

Sera cheers in excitement and shoves the bow in his hands. It's sturdy, and it's crafted from a metal that's similar to silverite, he thinks. Varric and Iron Bull spare Lavellan a concerned glance but he ignores them. He knows they're wondering how he can be so agreeable with the expense of these weapons. And although he has no reason to be so agreeable, especially when they do cost that much, he doesn't give them the room to question him.

                "Wait outside for me, I won't be long." The Inquisitor grins at his companions, and although Varric and Bull hesitate before leaving, they eventually do in silence. Sera trails along and smiles wide the whole way out to the Summer Bazaar. Lavellan can't help but feel his heart sink at that.

When he approaches the merchant, he can feel a sense of dread coming from his coin purse. He places the bow on the table and he reaches for his coin purse but is stopped. Lavellan's ears twitch in notice as the merchant touches his shoulder. The man is gentle and not forcing, but Lavellan knows that this means something more.

                "I would like to purchase this." The elvhen mage says with an unsure tone, "Unless there is an issue?" This merchant must recognize him as the Herald of Andraste, but the chance is there that he doesn't. There was always the issue about him being elvhen, too.

The merchant shakes his head, and Lavellan attempts to recall his name but it doesn't come to him. The merchant extends his hand to Lavellan and requests a handshake, which he obliges to.

                "The Herald, yes? My name is Clement de Fontanne. I am quite the fan of your endeavors." Clement introduces himself with his Orlesian accent, it's not unappealing but it still sounds foreign on Lavellan's ears.

                "Pleasure." Lavellan responds, "I apologize, Clement, but my companions and I must return to Skyhold. If you would like to have a proper conversation I would prefer it if we met on more arranged terms." He attempts to sound diplomatic and polite but he is exhausted and wants to return to his bed. Nothing soothes his aching muscles like a hot bath and a well-deserved rest in his Orlesian-styled bed.

                Clement nods, "Of course. No need to be so formal, Herald, I am only a simple merchant." He laughs and Lavellan remains silent to await the man's intentions, "I mean no disrespect, but I hear the Inquisition has not been doing too well with its funding."

                Lavellan goes on guard and steps away from the merchant, "Perhaps I should take my business elsewhere."

                "No, no, I do not say this malice." Clement claims, strangely composed in the presence of the angered Inquisitor where most would shake where they stand, "I simply wanted to present you with a proposal, if you wish to hear it that is."

Lavellan frowns and mulls the idea in his head. There is no harm to listening to what this man has to say, so he nods and returns to where he was. He's only a couple of feet away from Clement but even so it's difficult to distinguish his facial features. Clement is dressed as any other noble merchant. This includes the mask he wears above his mouth, making it near impossible to identify him if needed.

                "Go ahead and make your proposal." The Inquisitor says shortly.

                Clement chuckles and obliges the elvhen man, "Of course, and now if I could be so bold."

He glances over the Inquisitor's shoulder to confirm that the elvhen woman, the dwaven and qunari men are out of hearing range. This worries Lavellan but he doesn't voice it. Whatever this merchant wants it wouldn't be worth alerting his companions.

                "How do you feel about... matters of the flesh?" The proposal is strewn in a language that's unfamiliar to Lavellan, but he understands it without a second thought.

                "Excuse me?" He asks, voice raising an octave.

Naturally, as the Inquisitor he has been propositioned before. There have been nobles and peasants alike that have shown their interest in the effeminate mage. Even his own companions, such as Bull and even Dorian, have made flirtatious advances. But he hadn't actually considered it. Maker’s blood, he hadn't even done  _it_ since the explosion at the conclave and he was separated from his clan.

                Clement shrugs his shoulders and turns from the Inquisitor, "Please do not take offense to my proposition, Inquisitor." He smirks, "I make this proposal to aid your Inquisition, not to disturb or provoke."

There is no stopping an embarrassed blush to form on Lavellan's cheeks. He has no idea what Clement looks like underneath his mask. He could be hideous, with scars burned into his flesh, or birth marks that stretch across his face. But then again, he could have high cheekbones and charming freckled skin. Clement is mystery and it twinges temptation and excitement in him.

                "Why would you propose such a thing?" Lavellan solves his confusion with an irritated response, "Don't you know who I am? I am the Inquisitor, how could I accept such an unscrupulous proposal?"

                Clement raises his hands in defense, "Please, dear Inquisitor. If it bothers you that much then I must beg for your forgiveness." He pleads for mercy but his tone says otherwise, "Forget what I have said. Shall we continue with our initial business?"

Lavellan snorts, but is eager to drop the subject.

                "That will be eighteen hundred sovereigns." Clement says, and Lavellan freezes. He searches through his coin purses for the right amount but he realizes he is some hundred short. His expression falls flat and he's embarrassed. He must have spent it on the new armor for Blackwall with the last merchant they visited.

                Clement spares the Inquisitor a curious glance, "Is there a problem, Inquisitor?" He asks innocently, "You wouldn't be out of coin, would you?"

Lavellan sneers at the man, then glances over his shoulder to his companions, before he's back to the merchant.

                "What are the terms to your proposition, then?"

                Clement laughs but it's graceful. "Change your mind, did you? Though of course my proposition still stands." He clears his throat.

                "It's simple, Inquisitor, you give me your time and I will pay you for that time. Of course, this time will involve acts of the sexual nature, but I'm sure you know that. I won't do anything against your will, and we will end things on your terms. I only need you to be willing."

                "And, if you wish to explores other patrons. Then I can introduce you to others who would also like to spend their time, and coin, on you. If it's preferable. There are some who would enjoy some intimate time with the famed Herald of Andraste, I promise you."

Lavellan swallows the nervousness in his throat. He's never even thought of using his body for this purpose. It seems so dirty and if anyone finds out it would tarnish his reputation. He could lose every one of his followers, and even his advisors and companions might not want to follow a man who would so willingly sell his body.

                "You would keep this between us?" Lavellan asks slowly and unsurely, "You understand what I risk losing with such a... transaction." The word makes him feel like an object but it lessens the feelings of guilt that wells up in his stomach.

                Clement nods almost immediately, "Oh, of course. Being the Herald is half of the appeal." His eyes go towards Lavellan's waist and then his chest almost hungrily, "Although, I could list other reasons. But I won't waste your time much longer. Your companions must be restless." He hands the bow to the Inquisitor and waves away his coin purse.

                "Consider this a welcoming gift to our arrangement." Lavellan grips the weapon with his thin fingers and the realization of what he has agreed to catches up with him. It's sickening but it's also reassuring that he can provide for his companions without forcing them into deserts and swamps to gather rocks and flowers, "It'll be a pleasure to do business with you, Inquisitor."  

                "Hey, boss. Is everything alright?" Iron Bull calls from the entrance. He must be getting impatient, Lavellan thinks. The Inquisitor nods towards Clement and turns on his heel.

                "Tonight then." He hurries towards the Summer Bazaar. He can see Sera waiting impatiently for him and Varric doing the best he can to stop her from doing anything scandalous. When he reaches Bull, he smiles up at his companion in an attempt to reassure him.

                "Just making some chit chat. You know what it's like." Lavellan winks at his companion, and although there is suspicion evident on his expression, the Ben-Hassarath doesn't mention it. He knows he wouldn't get any answers from the Inquisitor if he asks him directly.

                The Iron Bull pats Lavellan's head with affection, "If you say so, boss." Lavellan grins at him and hurries to meet with the two archers. 

* * *

 

                Leliana furrows her brow, "I didn't think you were so easily convinced." She says almost scrutinizing, although rightfully so.

                "If you needed funds that badly, Josie could have organized more spending money for you. Even I would have been able to help. All you needed to do was ask!"

Lavellan sighs, his eyes glassed over with guilt.

                "I was backed into a corner. There was little I could do and I know how busy she is with restoring her family's status... that costs money, and I couldn't possibly ask her." He rubs his elbows anxiously.

                "And you're using your expenses on discovering Corphyesus' background. That's much more important than new armor and weapons."

                "But still," Leliana purses her lips, "You just needed to ask."

                He tenses up, "Yes, I know." 

* * *

 

When nightfall comes, Lavellan makes his way out of his quarters. Fortunately, he resides upstairs and not on the main floor with most of his companions. It's far too late for anyone to be up, save for Sera and perhaps Cole, who would be in the tavern at this hour. He decides to dress in thick robes for the cold night ahead of him, and takes his staff to be careful. He has little trust in Val Royeuax.

Lavellan leaves through the battlements. There might be some soldiers in the main hall, although unlikely, he wouldn't want to have to make up an excuse. Even as the Inquisitor, he couldn't avoid the inevitable questioning.

He makes his way onto the battlements, with his the thick furs closed tightly around his lithe form. The mountain winds brush against him harshly and it causes a tense shiver to run through him.

When he starts to creep down the stairs into the stables, he hears a familiar voice calling out to him.

                "Inquisitor Lavellan?" Blackwall says unsurely, but his suspicions are confirmed when he comes closer towards the elvhen man, "What are you doing out this late?" He asks, although there is little suspicion in his voice and instead simple curiosity.

                Lavellan turns towards his friend and spares him a gentle smile, "Blackwall." He greets the man, "I left some herbs in my riding pouch. I just came down to fetch them." His excuse rolls off his tongue with ease. It almost frightens him how easily he can lie to his companion's face.

                Blackwall nods, finding little wrong with his explanation, "Right. Don't stay out too late then. It's a cold night this one." He pats his friend on the shoulder, the man is always looking out for Lavellan and it hurts him to have to lie to the older man's face, "I look forward to our expedition to the Hinterlands on the morrow."

The elvhen man returns it with a grin, his cheeks and the tip of his nose is flushed red from the cold. Normally, he'd be in his quarters, sometimes with one of his companions, sharing the heat of the fire. This venture has only reminded him how much he hates the mountains.

When he reaches the stables, his hart snorts in his direction. He greets the animal with a gentle pat on her head.

                "Good evening." He says in a whisper, reaching for his riding gears. It doesn't take much time to saddle her up. Although it's been some time since he's done it on his own, the hart is ready to be ridden.

Lavellan takes the hart by her girdles and begins to lead her towards the southern entrance. He knows that there are no soldiers stationed there, not at this hour, but there will be some at another hour. This is his window to leave.

He mounts his hart once he's at the gate. As he's suspected, there are no soldiers standing guard. When he's mounted, he begins his journey towards Val Royeuax.

It's not much later in the night when he reaches Val Royuaux. It takes an hour to reach the city from Skyhold. There is little activity in the Summer Bazaar, as it would be expected. It's not difficult to find Clement's manor when he ventures further into the city.

The home is not overly large but it's expected of a merchant. Lavellan checks the address to confirm that he is at the right place, and when he does he knocks on the door. It takes a moment before a servant answers the door. It's an elvhen woman who is perhaps his age, or older.

She's not surprised at the Inquisitor at the door. Then again, he can't expect her to know who he is.

                "Lord Clement has been awaiting your arrival." She has short, brown hair and light colored eyes and appears tired, "He is in the study on the main floor." It's not easy to distinguish her appearance with the dim lights in the manor. She's taller than him though, but not by much.

Lavellan nods stoically, she seems to understand why he is here without having to say it. When a human and an elf meet it's usually always the same reasons.

                "Thank you." He responds as he hands the woman his hart's girdles, he wouldn't be able to see her again until much later in the night, he assumes.

                " _Ir abelas._ " She whispers under her breath.

Lavellan swallows thickly, " _Ma serannas._ " He wanders into the manor with care. The tiles are pristine with no stains, and the walls are a shade of cream. There are gas lanterns along the walls and they provide a dim light that casts his shadow along the ground. There is a staircase in this room, but he ignores it for now. The study is where he needs to be.

He removes his boots at the entrance, they're covered in melted snow and dust, and then he removes his coats. It's warmer here, but the cold is still in the night. He's not wearing his armor but light cotton clothing that's easily removed.

Lavellan moves towards where the study would be. There are many decorations such as halla statuettes and Dalish pottery. They're on pedestals and even have descriptions on their history. It's almost impressive that Clement has such a fine collection of elvhen artifacts. Even Solas would be impressed.

He lingers at the various paintings that line the walls above the artifacts, they're of landscapes and Clement even has some of the Dales although they're not very accurate. His fingertips trace the frames and he inspects the finer details of the paintings.

                "I see you've found interest in my collection?"

Clement leans against the archway to what Lavellan suspects is the study. He tears his gaze away from the paintings and meet's Clement's. His eyes widen for a moment when he realizes the merchant isn't wearing his mask. The man has his face bare although he is wearing his clothing from earlier.

                "I have such a fond interest in the Dales. Although that it's quite obvious." The man moves along the tiles with practiced grace. He meets Lavellan in front of the painting he's inspecting. It's a part of the Dales that is known for the herds of halla.

Lavellan glances towards Clement with just his eyes. The man is taller than him by one head, as are most human men. He has raven colored hair that reaches his shoulders and curved brows that frame his intense, storm grey eyes. He has faint lines along his eyes and lips that indicate age, and might even be double Lavellan's age. But he doesn't dare ask that. The man has a structured, square jaw that fits on his otherwise masculine face. He must have not shaved today because there are hints of stubble on his face. How human men must struggle with body hair, he thinks absently.

                "This wouldn't have to do with your proposition to me, would it?" Lavellan asks with suspicion.

It isn't uncommon for humans to lust after elves after all. They are smaller, in both height and frame, and to humans generally more attractive with their large eyes and delicate features. It's a feature that all elves share, and is rather uncommon amongst humans.

                Clement laughs aloud and shakes his head, "It's a coincidence, I assure you." It makes little impression on Lavellan, but he decides that it doesn't matter whether it's the case or not. "Come, I suppose you would like to get straight to business?"

The thought makes Lavellan sick to his stomach. The knowledge that he would have to sleep with this man was... it's unbelievable. Before the conclave explosion, he never even thought about being intimate with someone who isn't an elf, and although that's changed somewhat he still finds the idea repulsive.

                "That'd be preferred." He responds, although he lies. He wants to stand there and stare at the paintings until the morning comes so he can return to Skyhold. But he knows that isn't the case. As the Inquisitor, he has to fulfill his responsibilities.

                Clement grins and beckons the man with his hand. "Come, I've made the appropriate bathing preparations. I'm sure you know how to clean yourself up." Lavellan shudders because he knows what he means when he says that. Clement would want to explore every part of the Inquisitor's body, so that meant he would have to have everywhere absolutely pristine.

Lavellan is led up towards the second floor. He avoids touching the stair railings because they're so clean and spotless. The second floor is very similar to the first, with paintings and other decorations of similar origins. There are statues of halla and elvhen gods such as Mythal, and paintings of the Dales. It's an extensive collection.

Clement is silent through their short tour in the hallways. He opens the door for Lavellan and he enters with a nod of appreciation. Once he's inside, he has to swallow the awe that's stuck in his throat.

                "I didn't know merchants could live so extravagantly." Lavellan says light heartedly. This is even more luxurious than his own quarters at Skyhold – and he was the Herald of Andraste.

The master bedroom is just the same size as his own, maybe larger. The bed appears to be designed for two people, but he doesn't doubt it could fit Iron Bull and all of his Chargers comfortably. Though that was probably a stretch.

The walls are a shade of maroon, on the lighter side perhaps, and the windows are large and covered by drapes in a charcoal color. The floor is covered in plush carpeting that feels heavenly between Lavellan's toes. On the bed, there is a tall canopy that is covered in red sheer fabrics that give a sensual feel to the room. They're held up by gold rods that spiral in a fashionable design. The bed is covered in a thick comforter and there is an abundance of silky pillows. The gas lamps on the walls have the room dimmed, and lights up enough for things to be visible.

                "I have many other branches. It's not difficult to maintain this type of estate." Clement doesn't appear to be bragging, and his tone is as humble as a wealthy merchant can get. "The bathroom is in the other room, if you would." He gestures towards a door that's adjacent to the bedroom. Lavellan nods nervously and follows his instruction towards it.

                "Put on the clothes I've left on the basin. I'd hate your Inquisitor finery to be damaged." The smirk in Clement's voice is almost too evident with his request. Lavellan obeys in silence and makes his way into the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him.

Once he's inside, he can hear some movement from the bedroom. But he ignores it, surely, what Clement is doing is for their inevitable intimacy. He leans against the door and lets out a breath. This is almost too much for him--dealing with spitfire nobles and battling demons in barren deserts crawling with monsters is less demanding on his mental state.

With that thought pushed aside, Lavellan begins to undress. He places his finery on the basin, where he has the moment to inspect what the merchant has determined for him to wear. It's not something he's seen before, he admits. The Dalish wore clothes that were practical and made from materials that are durable. Even the finery made sense to him, but what he stares at makes little to no sense to him. Why were there so many frills?

He brings the clothes towards the light. It's what he suspects is small clothes but with far too many detailing. The piece of cloth is smaller than his own small clothes and would barely cover his groin. That though brings a bright blush to his face and the tips of his ears.

It's also very soft, which he has no objections to, and crafted from a silk far too fine to be wasted on something worn underneath. The small clothes are the color that Cassandra’s ears turn when she reads Varric’s novels. There are white frills on the hems, which appear to be uncomfortable.

Connected to the small clothes, although they appear to be a separate piece, is a waist band that has two suspenders with connected clips. The clips are attached to two sheer pieces of material that appear to be socks with delicate lace on the tops. Although they're far above the knee and would end on the middle of his thighs. They're white as well.

Lavellan makes a disgusted face. Perhaps he can question Dorian about these things. In a way that's not suspicious of course. Humans were always such an intriguing subject to him, with their strange habits and hobbies.

Afraid he's wasting too much time, he continues to undress until he's bare. He creeps into the bathtub and lets out a pleased sigh at the warmth. He can tell he water had been to the point of boiling at some point but it had now cooled down to a pleasant warm. He dips his toes in before he plunges himself into the water. Even at Skyhold it was difficult to have such soothing baths, mostly due to the constant chill.

Lavellan uses the wash cloths to rub his skin. He had washed before leaving Skyhold but the riding had gathered sweat. He washes his long hair with soap that smells of sweet fruits, and rubs his joints with oil that smells of something just as sweet but perhaps more floral.

It's an extravagant bath, he assesses, something that a noble must enjoy on a frequent basis. This isn't something he wants to become used to, so he hurries the process. Once Lavellan is done with the soaps and oils, he braces himself with one hand on the side of the bathtub.

He slides down along the porcelain until his behind is not touching the surface. He's touched himself in a similar method in the past at Haven and Skyhold. But it had always been for his own pleasure. He hadn't had to prepare himself for another and he's almost forgotten what it feels like to be penetrated properly.

Lavellan swallows and shakes his head. He has to be determined. This isn't for him, it's for his companions who need the new armor to defeat Corypheus and his ghouls. They need him to be brave, for this moment. If it's to help them he can do it.

He purses his lips and dips his other hand underneath the water. His fingertip presses against his puckered entrance and he hisses at the resistance. It takes some shallow breaths from him but he managers to slip his thin finger inside. On the inside, he's warm and he's tight. He hadn't had anything larger than his fingers inside recently so it's no surprise.

With one finger inside, he begins to curl the digit and he whines at the sensation. He's tickled a familiar bundle of nerves that sends a pleasurable torrent through him.

Since moving to Skyhold, he'd been so busy with missions and operations he had little time for his own pleasures. Once he feels it's sufficient he uses another finger to invade his insides. He squirms in the bathtub which causes the water to splash at the sides. Although he cares little for the wet tiles.

Once he has two fingers inside, he begins to scissor himself. It takes some practiced movements but eventually he opens himself enough to have the warm water enter him. It's a strange feeling and he shudders despite the heat surrounding him. Lavellan has to prop the pads of his feet against the corners of the bathtub to stop himself from moving too much.

He continues to touch his prostate with the tips of his fingers and with every brush he moans aloud. It's fortunately muffled by the splashing. He has to force himself to remove his fingers before the pleasure is sent to his groin. He can't be seen hard before Clement even touches him. He refuses to. 

* * *

 

                "It's very brave of you to do that for your companions." Leliana whispers, her expression sullen. She has her gaze fixed on Lavellan's lips as opposed to his eyes – he supposes it's easier for her to not look at him there. He would feel the same, knowing his leader had done something so shameful.

                Lavellan sighs, his alabaster hair falling from the shell of his ear, "It was an easy way out." He admits as he attempts to push the strands back, "I wasn't thinking properly at the time."

Leliana spares him a pitied frown, prompting the man to continue. 

* * *

 

Once he's cleaned, inside and out, Lavellan puts on the delicate small clothes. It takes him a moment to understand where everything goes but he's figured it out. The waistband clings to his hips and squeezes on him. It's not tight to be insufferable but it pushes inwards on him and causes a crease. The socks fit too well on his lean legs and tighten around his plump thighs.

His vallasin covers his body. It traces down his face in vines and branches that curl around his waist and arms. It then branches down towards his thighs and ends at his ankles. Not many, beside his clan, have seen these markings. Lavellan feels so exposed while wearing so little.

When he exits the bathroom, he spots Clement waiting for him on the bed. He's wearing a robe and what Lavellan assumes, nothing else. The man examines Lavellan with his eyes and a pleased smile finds its way to his lips.

                "What a sight." He beams, "The Inquisitor in lingerie. I never thought I'd see it."

Lavellan scrunches his brow, it appears he is wearing lingerie. It must be an Orlesian word for uncomfortable small clothes. He doubts they're for practical use with the amount of frills and sheer materials.

                "What now?" Lavellan asks impatiently.

Clement beckons the Inquisitor towards him. He moves towards him, trickles of heat from the fireplace dancing along his skin. When he's in front of Clement, he's only an inch away from the tips of the man's feet.

                "Can't I have a moment to laze in your charm?" Clement reaches up towards Lavellan's dangling fingertips and brushes his hands against them. His touch is warm and inviting and he caresses the inside of the man's palms. He has the soft flesh of a mage, unlike the rough callous of a warrior.

                Lavellan flushes at the comment, "I'd rather not."

                "Straight to the point I see." Clement chuckles as he gestures for Lavellan to get onto his knees, "How much experience have you had?"

The question is rather broad, Lavellan thinks idly as he drops to his knees.

                "Enough." He responds as he begins to undo the sash that keeps Clement's robe closed.

The mage's nimble fingers don't create much hassle with the finery. But before he can open the robes his hands are paused in their ministrations with a gentle grip around his wrists.

                "Something wrong?" Lavellan questions with a furrowed brow.

Clement shakes his head, his expression stern.

                "Your excitement is endearing, dear Inquisitor." He purrs with affection, his hand moves along Lavellan’s forearms and to his long, white mane, "But let us set some rules of engagement." His long fingers run through the man's drying strands, pushing them to not obstruct his features.

                Lavellan purses his lips in irritation, "What do you mean?" He questions with impatience.

Clement's hands settle on the sides of the Inquisitor’s face. His granite stare is compelling as it drowns into Lavellan's forest pupils. Their faces are close and the tips of their noses almost touching. It doesn't catch Lavellan off guard when he feels the man's lips on his.

His lips are rough and they're hot as they graze over Lavellan's mouth. Clement is aggressive with the embrace and doesn't inhibit against the elvhen man's little mouth. Their tongues tangle in a heated mix and match of saliva and teeth and Clement peppers little bites against Lavellan's reddened lower lip. It doesn't go unwelcomed and wrings out a strangled moan from him.

When Clement drags his lips from Lavellan's, the taste of tobacco and bitter wine lingers on his taste buds. Clement flicks his tongue against Lavellan's lip and delves into his mouth once more. He's less aggressive this time and when their teeth touch he runs his hand through Lavellan's locks and tugs on them.

Lavellan whines in response to the slight pain it causes, while his arms betray him and wrap around the man's shoulders. When Clement drags his lips from him once again, Lavellan scowls at him. His mouth feels cold and he's restless against this man.

                "Excited, are we?" Clement asks in a seductive tone, his palm moving to brush against the bulge in Lavellan’s small clothes that he had yet to notice.

He hisses in response to the touch.

                "It's a natural reaction." The Inquisitor claims, which isn't untrue, he hadn't noticed how hard he'd gotten from their intimate interactions.

                Clement chuckles in response, "Of course, Inquisitor." He opens up his robes with diligent hands, "Now, would you be so kind?"

Lavellan's expression twists into astonishment as he gapes at the man's partially hard cock. The thick muscle rests against his thigh and drips a clear colored liquid Lavellan knows far too well along his leg. His curious gaze goes towards the tip of his manhood and his lips purse together in question.

                "What's this?" He asks, too innocent in question, as his fingertips brush against the sensitive skin that's wrapped around Clement's tip. The trail of pre cum connects to his fingertip as he draws it from him.

                Clement arches a brow in pleasant curiosity, "Do your people not have foreskin?"

                "Foreskin..." Lavellan says under his breath thoughtfully, then he shakes his head, "No, I don't believe so."

He leans in and laps the tip of Clement's cock with the tip of his tongue. The taste is surprising, it tastes salty and somewhat bitter, although it's not overly dreadful. But he prefers the taste of his own people which is less intense and not so strong tasting.

The experimental licks causes a harsh breath to choke out from Clement. He reaches up from Lavellan's nape to the back of his head and entangles his fingers in the man's long hair. He tugs softly with encouraging breaths. The elf's tongue is small and manages to reach his sensitive places with ease.

Lavellan dips the tip of his tongue underneath Clement's foreskin, and his reaction catches him by surprise. The loud moan and the sudden tightened grip in his hair causes a pained whine to come from him.

                "My apologies, Inquisitor," Clement says apologetically with shortened breaths, "Continue."

Lavellan nods with much more uncertainty. He uses his small hand to wrap around Clement's now completely hardened cock. He's wide and he's large and Lavellan's hand only manages to encircle three-quarters of the muscle. But he's also surprisingly hot in his hand. The appendage twitches and pulses in his hold and radiates a masculine musk.

He begins to rub him up and down while his tongue figures out how to remove the foreskin. Whenever his small tongue runs over the tip of Clement's manhood he breathes harder and the grip in the elvhen man's hair grows tight. With this reaction in mind, he uses the fine tip of his tongue to push the foreskin down. He's successful and he can't help but feel a small sense of pride after conquering the human anatomy.

Lavellan uses his other hand to gently push Clement's thighs apart, this earns an earnest chuckle from the man above him. When he has enough space, he pulls his wet lips away from the man's cock and begins to suckle on his balls. The skin is looser than he thought it would be, but the taste is stronger and more dominant over his senses.

He uses his hand, wrapped tightly around the girth of the muscle, and begins to stroke him. With his delicate mouth on Clement's balls, this earns a pleasured moan from the merchant. He pulls on Lavellan's hair and forces him to gaze upwards towards him. Despite his labored breaths and sweat covered skin he appears to be more in controlled than Lavellan is.

                "Would you mind using that delightful mouth on all of me?" He asks gently while his long fingers run through Lavellan's scalp adoringly. His trimmed fingernails feels good against his skin and it takes some effort to not move into the touch.

Lavellan complies without having to say a word. He drops his mouth from the man's balls and licks at his lips. The taste of salt and bitterness and virility lingers and it's not completely undesired.

He then, although hesitantly, moves to his shaft. He stares down the manhood with decisive intent. It has become apparent that humans are larger than elves in not just height and weight. He's longer, and not just by one or two inches, and thicker by a lot more. With this in mind, he takes the first quarter of the length into his mouth. His maw strains painfully at the girth and struggles to compensate. The head of Clement's cock pushes against the inside of his cheek uncomfortably.

                Clement must sense his hesitation and he runs his fingers on Lavellan's scalp again, "Don't force it, dear Inquisitor. If it's too much, just say so."

Lavellan scrunches his brow in challenge. Although Clement sounds sincere enough he doesn't let the comment go without a snort.

                "S'fine." He responds with a mouth full of cock.

                This causes Clement to laugh aloud, "To have the Inquisitor’s mouth stuffed with my cock, I never thought I'd see the day." He continued to run his fingers through Lavellan's hair and the sensation doesn't go unwelcomed.

Deciding to ignore the merchant's comment, Lavellan begins to swallow more inches of the lengthy manhood. He has a small mouth but he manages to have the muscle fit perfectly in his hot cavern. With his tongue darting out of the way to avoid blocking entrance, he eventually feels the head poke at the entrance of his throat.

There is an expression of struggle on his effeminate face and Clement opens his mouth to object to the Inquisitor's forcefulness but is silenced when the head of his cock is engulfed in a tighter entrance. The entrance to his throat is insanely tight and heated and Lavellan isn't too surprised when the man bucks into his mouth.

                "So the Inquisitor has no gag reflex? How scandalous." Clement says, panting between words. He's become less complacent and more hot and bothered. His cock twitches and pulses in need between Lavellan's plump lips.

Lavellan has little to respond with, so he begins to move. He bobs his head against the man's hips and rests the tip of his nose against the dark pubic hair. It's rough and it's coarse against his the tip of his upturned nose. Humans were always such strange things to him. They had body hair just about everywhere.

When he's comfortable enough, Lavellan begins to move his head. His throat opens to accommodate the intruding head and tightens when it's invaded. Clement moves his hands so they rest on the sides of the elvhen man's head. He doesn't control the Inquisitor's movements and instead runs his blunt fingernails over the shaven part of his scalp affectionately.

Lavellan hums in appreciation of the motion. The merchant's hands are warm against him and makes it easier to move against his hips. His tongue drawls along the pulsing veins on Clement's shaft. He can practically feel his heartbeat through the cock trapped between his lips.

While he moves his head, Lavellan runs his palms along Clement's thighs. There is hair there as well, although it's much softer and less dense than the patch above his groin. It feels nicer between his fingers and he can't help but be intrigued.

Lavellan's throat vibrates with his hums, Clement's hold in his tresses tightens. He groans in appreciation of the tight warmth and thrusts his hips forward. Lavellan instinctively spasms around his motions causing a greater feeling of pleasure for the man.

When his hands reach Clement's hips he feels around the protruding bones. There's a distinctive difference between his thighs and hips with the presence of muscle.

                "Inquisitor, your wandering hands," Clement says between his struggled breaths, "I'm going to!" He doesn't manage to finish his sentence before he shoots his hot load into Lavellan's mouth. The semen coats his throat in hot spurts and dribbles out from the corner of his lips.

Once Clement has finished his hands go limp from the Inquisitor's head. He uses them to run through his own hair as a sheen of sweat mats the locks against his skin. His breathing comes out in short puffs as he struggles to regain his composure.

Lavellan swallows what he can. There's little room for the substance he can only describe as a watered down saltiness. It's denser and heavier than what he's tasted before but it's not worse in any sense. There's also more of it which he found unexpected.

Clement lifts the man's head with his thumb and forefinger. He appears more than pleased with Lavellan's cooperation with the smile that graces his thin lips.

With the merchant meeting his eyes, Lavellan laps up the remaining drops of semen that trail down the corner of his lips. This seems to please Clement even further as his grin stretches further across his face.

                "I am impressed." He says when he's eventually caught his breath, "I've heard you're very skilled with your tongue, but I couldn't imagine this is what they meant."

                Lavellan wipes his mouth with the side of his hand. "This isn't what they meant."

                Clement chuckles and shakes his head. "Alas, I am not one to judge."

Lavellan stumbles and rises from his irritated knees. Clement manages to catch him by the wrists to prevent him from tumbling forward onto him.

                "Careful." He warns, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. The man's stare lingers at Lavellan's chest, with his little blushed nipples erect on his taut flesh. He moves his hands from Lavellan's wrists and runs them along the sides of his waist.

The Inquisitor is thin there where the muscle is tucked in and compact. His abdominal muscles aren't visible like the Iron Bull or even Cassandra. Instead he has a naturally cinched waist that curves inwards with hips that flare outwards. Along these trimmed muscles is an expanse of milky skin with the occasional bruise from his endeavors in the wilderness. 

Clement runs his fingertips along the Inquisitor's almost perfect bone structure. He reaches his hips and digs underneath the garters.

                "What do you think, Inquisitor?" He asks absently, long fingers running down further towards the tented small clothes. There's a visible wet patch where Lavellan's head pitches upward. "How much further do you wish to venture?"

Lavellan shudders at the delicate touch that causes slights bumps to raise on his flesh. He leans forward, his slender hands on the merchant's shoulders.

                "That depends," His plump lips, glossed with saliva, drawl along the cartilage on Clement's ear, "How much are you willing to aid the Inquisition?"

                Clement chuckles, moving his head from Lavellan's so their noses are close but not touching. "I am willing to make a rather  _sizeable_ donation." He responds, his breath tickles Lavellan's nostrils with each word.

                "Then I am yours." Lavellan returns, his hands sliding from Clement's shoulders to the sides of his face.

His palms are supple and smooth and glide along his stubble covered jawline. It's sharp and prickles his hands but it isn't an unwelcomed sensation. It's different from the usual hairless bodies he's been pressed up against.

Clement lifts the Inquisitor by his waist. He catches the small man off guard and earns a squeal of protest before he's lifted up and placed onto the center of the mattress. The merchant is surprisingly strong.

Lavellan sinks into the plush bedding, his knees up and thighs pressed together in earnest. Clement takes advantage of the man's confusion and hovers over him with his large hands pushed onto the sides of Lavellan's shoulders. His smirk is victorious, if not with some well-placed arrogance.

                "To have the Inquisitor underneath me," He breathes, leering perversely at the man beneath him from head to toe, "I must be in the Fade."

Clement leans down and swipes his tongue over Lavellan's adam’s apple. This earns a high-pitched whine from him as he wraps his arms around the merchant's shoulders. His fingernails dig into the soft flesh and draw long, red lines across as Clement works his teeth and lips masterfully over Lavellan's throat.

He kisses hard into the sensitive skin. His teeth run over him and bite down on vulnerable flesh. It stings for the moment it's there and the pain soon dulls down. Lavellan whines in protest and digs his nails into Clement's shoulder in response.

Once he's bruised the flesh, he laps over the wound to reassure Lavellan that he's been marked. When he's done there, he moves upwards and nibbles on his earlobe.

                "W-Wait." Lavellan says breathlessly, "It's sensitive!" He says with a faint blush. His lips are pursed in the slightest sign of defiance.

There is an expression of surprise from the man, but it's soon replaced with devious perversion. He bites down on Lavellan’s lobe and causes a desperate moan to escape him. He then licks upwards from the lobe and onto the shell, sparing nibbles there too. With this expert attention to his sensitive ears, Lavellan bucks his hips up into Clement's. When he does, he can feel how hard the man has become.

                "Such a sweet voice." Clement compliments the Inquisitor as his bites go further until they reach the tips of his ears. Lavellan's blush has reached his ears and color the flesh a bright red.

With one of his hands, Clement reaches down with fingertips grazing pale flesh and tugs at the hem of the tented small clothes. It takes some force to pull them over Lavellan's erection but eventually it's sprung free. With the sudden cold air he groans in pleasure and grinds his hips upwards into Clement's in lustful desperation.

Clement is eventually sated with Lavellan’s ears and lifts his curious mouth from them. With his overhead view of the Inquisitor he can't help but lick his lips.

The man below him is absolutely delectable. With his full, reddened cheeks covering even his freckles, spreading to his chest and elongated ears. His porcelain flesh is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that does little to deter Clement's adventurous tongue. Lavellan's chest is puffed out and moving with his erratic heartbeat. His pecs are an easy handful and his little nipples are flushed and erect. He moves his wide hips with discomfort, and his thick thighs press together in fruitless attempts to subdue his arousal. With a flat stomach and long, muscular legs he's almost perfection. Even his hair, alabaster in color, spreads underneath him in disorganized mess of tangled tresses is so palatable.

Lavellan's cock is hard against his stomach. The organ is bloomed in red and almost appears painful. It dribbles pre cum from the tip and has rubbed onto his skin in messy strokes. It's small, but not unimpressive in any sense, and stands just over half the size of Clement's. The merchant can't help but find that fact excessively adorable.  

Clement encases Lavellan's shaft with his hand. The calloused palm stretches with ease around his little cock. The motion causes a pleasured moan from the man and quickened breathes. He bats his thick eyelashes and barely manages a glare to the man above him.

                "Does teasing me please you so?" He asks between breaths as he struggles to keep his nails from drawing blood from Clement's shoulders.

                "More than you know." Clement smirks as he presses his knees into the mattress to steady himself.

He runs his fingernails along Lavellan's puffed out chest and then encircles the nipple playfully. The motion incites a moan and a buck of the elvhen man's hips. Lavellan's erection pulses in Clement's hand, precum spilling from the tip and over the man's fingers.

Lavellan arches his spine upwards and buries his head into Clement's shoulders. He scrapes along the merchant's shoulder blades, creating long, painful red lines in his flesh. With Clement moving his digits along Lavellan's shaft the friction becomes almost unbearable. He suppresses his moan by digging his teeth into the man's shoulder, screaming a stifled sound of pleasure as he ejaculates into Clement's hand.

His cum shoots out in ropes on Clement's hand and stomach. The fluid is more vicious and denser than expected and almost appears as if it were pent up over time. Clement brings up his hand, coated in Lavellan's cum, and presses it against the Inquisitor's open mouth.

Lavellan's small tongue darts out and laps along the side of his hand. It scoops up the fluid cleanly into his mouth and he swallows it as if it were water. When he's done he straightens up his back and presses his gentle palms against Clement's shoulders, effectively pushing the man down onto the mattress.

                Clement chuckles, staring up towards the man with curious eyes, "Show me what you can do, Inquisitor." His voice is challenging and causes a small snarl to spread across Lavellan's plump lips.

Lavellan hooks his thumbs under the hem of his small clothes, catching Clement's attention, and lifts his leg. He slides the silken garments under his lifted leg and then does the other, throwing it onto the ground. Lavellan's renewed erection bobs up to full at the removal of its bindings.

He dips his fore and middle finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the two digits. When they're damp with saliva, he removes them and using his other hand, spreads his cheeks. With the opening, Lavellan pushes his fingers into his entrance. He hisses at the initial push of the intruders but his fingers are able to sink into the first joint.

                "It seems you have experience, Inquisitor. How often do you do this exactly?" Clement says cockily as he lifts his hands to rest on Lavellan's firm hips. He rubs his fingertips into the man's supple flesh, encouraging him.

                " _Fenedhis_." Lavellan hisses under his breath, ignoring Clement's snide comments. He dips his fingers in further past the tight ring of muscle. It's been some time since he's explored himself with this method. Even then, the circumstances were much different.

He opens his fingers and spreads himself further. The stinging pain causes a groan from his wet mouth. With another finger added, he pants and continues to stretch out his fingers. He fixes his gaze on Clement's paused expression. The man focuses on Lavellan's erotic lips as he swipes his tongue over them.

When Lavellan decides he's stretched himself out enough, he removes his fingers. He wipes them on the covers, earning a small laugh from Clement, and wraps his nimble fingers around the man's shaft. He strokes it briefly, spurring the muscle to full length and spreading the precum along with the saliva to further slick his member.

Clement digs his fingernails into Lavellan's hipbones when the man touches his cock with teasing strokes. His little fingers send sparks of pleasure through his body, causing the muscles in his thighs to twitch in anticipation.

Lavellan smirks knowingly as he lowers his hips towards Clement's pulsing cock. He fits the thick member between his warm cheeks, eliciting a moan from the merchant. Lavellan bites his lower lip at the sound that's choked out from Clement's throat. He moves his hips up and down in a slow motion, his own arousal springing up at the hot length rubbing against his puckered entrance.

                "Oh, Inquisitor" Clement moans through his teeth, tightening his grasp on Lavellan's hips, "You truly are a temptress."

With his words, Lavellan lifts his hips and pierces his hole with Clement's hard cock. It plunges through the ring of muscle with ease, and he settles his rear at the base of his hips. Clement's cock is larger than Lavellan first anticipated and it fills him up almost completely.

Lavellan rests both his hands on Clement's chest and lets out a throaty moan. His plush ass rests on Clement's strong hips and he gently rocks back and forth. Clement urges him on in silence, guiding his movements with his strong hands.

A string of curses follow his moans as Lavellan continues to move. Clement's cock fills him up almost completely, and the thought of it causes his own member to harden up even more. He lifts his hips, causing a long moan to draw from Clement's mouth, before he slams down again.

The pattern continues, with a few seconds between each movement, and Lavellan feels better than he has in forever. The euphoria of intercourse fills his senses and clouds his mind of any problems that plagued him before. Sweat slicks to his skin and it tastes salty between his teeth, and his heart thuds against his chest.

Clement's nails start to dig deeper into his hips, and Lavellan can feel the man underneath him twitch. He's close, he realizes, and Lavellan starts to move his hips faster to urge his orgasm. He knows that his thighs are going to burn in the morning, but it'll be so worth it.

Once Clement cries out, it's muffled and caught between his lips, but the moment it happens Lavellan lets out his own sound of pleasure. The merchant's hot seed spurts out from his cock and fills up Lavellan in half a minute. It feels, in short, amazing as it courses through him and starts to leak out of him once he's too full.

Lavellan lets out a loud sound of relief once the man's cock stops twitching. He can feel his cum coming out from his entrance and drip down the insides of his thighs. Once his heart starts to slow down to much more regular pace, he lifts his tired hips up and allows Clement's now flaccid member to slide out of him, along with his seed.

There is a pregnant pause between the pair when Lavellan collapses onto Clement's chest. With his ear against him, he can feel the thrumming in his chest. He sighs, grateful that he isn't the only one feeling this way.

                "Inquisitor." Clement mumbles, his words muffled with Lavellan's hair in his face. The Inquisitor offers a grumble in response, his consciousness fading with his cheek against his heated skin, "As much as I do adore your presence, I believe you staying here would raise questions at the Inquisition."

The thought hits him like a druffalo and his eyes widen. Lavellan sits up, his hair tossed over on to one shoulder ardently and his slides off Clement and onto the side of the bed.

                "Right." Lavellan swallows, "I should be leaving." The first thing that comes to mind are his clothes, which he starts to search for. Where did he leave them? His hands scramble over the floor for the garments.

He doesn't even notice Clement leave the bedroom and return with his clothes - folded and presented to him in a neat pile.

                "Don't fret, Inquisitor. You'll return before the morning comes." Clement smiles at him. It's comforting, despite coming from an Orlesian. He hesitates, but eventually Lavellan nods in agreement and takes the clothes before he rushes into the bathroom.

The door slams behind him and he can hear Clement get to getting dressed himself. Meanwhile, Lavellan presses his bare back against the cold of the door and lets out a hiss of sudden pain. It runs up through his bones and settles in his hips. He knows what causes this pain and he doesn't want to think about it, lest he feel a rush of disgust.

What happened - what he did - seems too unbelievable. He didn't know that he had the capacity to feel that way. He should be disgusted with himself, at what level he has sunk to but doesn't. Instead he feels good, in a strange sense. To be wanted like this, and to feel like this doesn't make him feel disgusting but he feels.. proud?

Lavellan shakes his head. This is not the time nor place, and he doesn't want to return to Skyhold and have Cole to dig into his head and find this out. Even Bull would be able to find out with just the look on his face. It's going to be so hard to hide this from the Inquisition, but it's something that must be done. Despite his chagrin.

It's awfully hard to convince himself of this.

With little in his mind but to get out of Orlais and back to Skyhold, Lavellan hurriedly dresses himself without the thought to remove the lacy undergarments or to even clean himself up. He'll deal with that later, and right now Clement's presence just gives him an emotion that's a mix between anxiety and nausea.

He opens the door, just enough to discreetly peak out, and he discovers that Clement is nowhere to be found. With a sigh of relief, Lavellan leaves and starts to make his way into the main hall. But something catches his attention before he has the ability to do so.

On the bed, which is now completely made, is a note. Lavellan gravitates towards it once he recognizes his name on the top of the page.

                 _'Lavellan (I assume we are well acquainted enough for me to address you as this),_

_I had a lovely time in your company. I will send the promised payment shortly._

_Have a pleasant day,  
                Clement de Fontanne.'_

Lavellan wants to crumple the note in his hands but he doesn’t. It must be an Orlesian thing to be so grossly pleasant after such an activity. Whatever the case, he removes himself from the bedroom and into the hallway. Clement was kind enough to allow him to leave without his presence.

With the information noted, Lavellan starts his descent down the stairs.

* * *

Leliana’s hand hovers over the Inquisitor’s shoulder, her stare on him is intense but also pitiful. It’s saddens him to witness this.

                “Inquisitor.” She whispers, he can feel her heart breaking and the pain echoes and forms an emotion of sorrow. He doesn’t want her to feel like this. The reason why he did this was to make sure no one had to feel this way.

Lavellan swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s fine.” He reassures her, but he knows she doesn’t believe him. Not with the way her fist tightens. His lips start to quiver and he can’t stop the tears that start to fall past his cheeks.


End file.
